Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142

“I… I’m just visiting… well, I… I work here.” I stammered, trying to think of something.

“You work here?”

“Yes.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“I… I clean,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You clean?” he echoed like it was the most unbelievable thing he’d ever heard.

“Yes. It’s maintenance. It’s… it’s an empty apartment. All I do is clean. I make sure everything’s in order.”

He tilted his head. “So you’re telling me there are guards outside guarding this place, and you, a cleaning lady, live here alone?”

“I… I’m sure there are owners,” I stammered. “But I haven’t met them. I haven’t been here that long….. I think.”

Alex laughed, clapping his hands once, amused. Wow. You’re smart. Grew up in this world, huh? You’re quick on your feet too. I’m starting to like you more and more by the second.”

I didn’t know whether that was a compliment or a threat. Probably both.

But I also knew something with clarity: this was dangerous. Very dangerous.

It was one thing to be caught in a room with men who acted like mafia. It was another when the man at the centre of it all didn’t seem to belong to my world, the world I recognized. He didn’t look Italian, wasn’t Italian. Not by his accent. Not by his mannerisms.

Irish maybe? Russian? Eastern European? There were too many possibilities. Too many threats.

Was he an enemy? A rival? A mercenary? He couldn’t possibly be a friend of Asher’s. Not with the way he commanded the room. Not with how his men had handled their entrance, those shots weren’t for show. Someone had been shot. Someone might already be dead.

I was getting more and more nervous with every breath. I could feel myself freezing up, locking into place like a deer in headlights, But I forced myself to move, anything to break the paralysis. I shook my head, trying to bring myself back, only to find Alex’s eyes still locked on

He wasn’t looking at me with lust or desire. That would’ve been easier to handle.

No, he looked at me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve. Like he could take me apart if he stared long enough.

Dissect me. Understand me. Control me.

Finally, he spoke and for a terrifying moment, I was grateful he did. Anything was better than that silence and that stare.

“I think I like you,” he said, calm and casual.

God, no.

I felt my spine go rigid, every muscle in my body tightening like wires pulled taut.

“And as we keep talking,” he continued, “you’re getting more interesting.”

God no, God no, please no.

There was nothing casual in those words. Even though his voice was smooth, light, almost playful, this was not a game.

“But you see,” he said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, “I don’t have a lot of time here. Our time is limited. So, I’m going to get straight to the point.”

That’s when he pulled something from the folder beside him and flung it toward me.

Photos.

They slid across the table like daggers, spreading out in front of me.

My stomach dropped. I didn’t need to pick them up to know what they were.

It was me and Asher. In Zanzibar.

Walking. Laughing. Sharing drinks on the beach. That time he carried me, barefoot, acro sand.

Holding hands. Walking through the streets. Kissing.

Every perfect moment captured like evidence of a crime. Me in his shirt….. They had followed us. Watched us.

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